


The One With The Coin

by Aneres



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneres/pseuds/Aneres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I used him long before he learned to use me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The Coin

Mei Lin had been three or four at the time. It was her first memory. Behind her, she hears her parents, their sharp knives thudding on the wooden table as they slice meat. The rancid smell of dead flesh, which permeates all her childhood memories, burns her nose. Jia Siadao cries in the corner. He had been a fussy child, to his own misfortune.

She stands by the windowsill, barely tall enough to past the wood. The street is nearly empty outside. The moon glows bright in the sky, allowing her to see the gaggle of women across the dusty road. 

They are, each of them, very beautiful but one is distinguished. She is one of the smallest of the women but when she speaks, in a pleasing soprano, one’s eyes are easily drawn to her. Her features are smooth and delicate like a figure in a painting. Mei Lin can still recall the glint of her bright clothing and the fine movements the woman made to passing men.The woman disappears into the pleasure house now and again as Mei Lin watches, returning each time with a satisfied look on her beautiful face and a coin which she keeps. 

Beyond the women, Mei Lin can see the walls so tall they seem to join with the sky and after that the glint of the imperial city. She sees wagons, pulling mountains of goods into the city, but never see anything of value leave. What prosperity might exist there, Mei Lin can only guess at. 

Behind her, Mei Lin hears the brutal sound of hard bone on soft flesh. Her mother has made a mistake. Her father believes in discipline. Mother cries out but this only infuriates Father more, making his beating louder as he hits harder. JIa tries to save their mother. He falls prone by Mei Lin’s feet when defeated.

Father calls her mother stupid, useless, worthless. Later, face bruised and head bent in supplication, Mother will have to serve Father his evening meal. No one will speak on Father’s fingers, which remain stained with blood that is not his own. Jia Sidao will startle when someone reaches for him. It is simply the way things are. 

Mei Lin watches the prostitutes outside the window. Even then, she knew the world well already. One must carry the purse with coins in it, if one wishes thrive. 

.  
.  
.

The first week had been agony. By day, there was the hunger, gnawing, persistent, tireless hunger. Her stomach felt like a beast, terrorizing her every moments. It drove her nearly insane to the point where she found herself willing to claw through open windows and unlocked doors to steal food from the homes of strangers. 

They ate what the could. What little remained from their house, Jia took. This was his right as the son. Mei Lin took scraps that she found in refuse piles. When this was gone and she was mad with hunger, she took bark from trees and picked weeds that grew in the cracks of the streets. 

At night, she was haunted by the images of their parent dying of illness, blood gushing from their eyes and mouth as their hair feel in bundles. Mother and Father had not even been cold when the landlord had arrived to evict them, chasing them with a switch like they were dogs. Jia slept in the streets but Mei Lin stayed awake, suspicious of all those who passed and paid them too much attention.

To occupy herself while guarding her brother, she watched the ladies of the night. Her favorite was always there, a vision made more perfect by Mei Lin’s desperation. 

Soon, her body began to die. Her pulse seemed to fade into nothingness. Everything had a smell which consumed her. Memories of food she wished for dissipated finally from her mind. Her limbs felt as though they were encased in lead. She found refuge in hidden corners and slept away her last hours.

One night, half delirious, she wanders too close to the prostitutes. 

“Away,” one of the ladies says, flicking an annoyed hand at her. She wraps her arm more tightly around a potential client, who watches Mei Lin, more amused than put off. 

“Too expensive for you,” one of the ladies says, waving a finger at her.

Mei Lin stands dumbly. The second lady pinches her cheek but Mei Lin does not respond. She barely feels the sting of the pinch. The bundle of flesh which the woman held between her fingers clumps.

The second lady jumps back, a sound of distaste slipping from her lips. “It has the plague.”

“No plague,” a voice says from the door of the house. Mei Lin’s favorite stands, watching the scene before her, the light from inside illuminating her face, “The little one is much too hungry.”

Her favorite disappears inside, returning a few seconds later with a bowl. The favorite holds out the bowl to her. Mei Lin’s mind is like mountains in a fog, distant and indistinct. She stares at food. 

“Come on,” the favorite says, taking a bit of the gruel and holding it to the girl’s lips. Mei Lin finally finds the thought to open her mouth. The favorite feeds her several bites. The food taste wonderful, the salty broth and texture of the grain accentuated by her deficiency, but Mei Lin’s belly aches after only a small amount. 

Mei Lin pulls away and runs to hide. The next night the woman sees her again.

“Come,” the favorite says, motioning to her like she is a scared kitten. Mei Lin sits at her favorite's feet, the women feeding her small pieces of vegetables. The favorite catcalls to men passing between bites. 

The woman is like a goddess, Mei Lin thinks. Even more beautiful when she is near than she appeared from a distance, Mei Lin stares. 

Every night, Mei Lin goes to see the woman while Jia Sidao sleeps. The favorite always has morsels for the girl. It is not garbage either. It is high quality pickles, fresh rice, and even meat sometimes. 

“Why do you look at me like that?” the favorite asks one night after Mei Lin has finished a large bowl of soup. 

“You are beautiful,” Mei Lin says, “I want to be kind and generous like you when I am grown.”

The woman snorts, “It is powder and a bit of spare food. When you are grown, I will show you.”

The idea of a warm bed and a stocked pantry inflames Mei Lin’s mind. She becomes insistent, “Teach me now.”

“No,” the woman says.

Mei Lin begins to appear during the day, calling to the woman through windows as the favorites rests for the night. 

“She is like a sunflower, following you as though you are the orb in the sky itself,” the other ladies says.

.  
.  
.

Eventually, Mei Lin grows impatient and finds a client on her own. That night when she comes to see her favorite, her dress is stained from the blood which still runs down her legs. 

“I am sorry,” Mei Lin says over and over as her favorite cleans her and dresses her wound. 

The favorite bites her lip, a deep glare set above her eyes. Mei Lin’s belly rumbles and they both hear. 

“I will teach you properly,” the favorite says.

The favorite combs Mei Lin’s hair, arranging it artfully. As she teaches Mei Lin her artform, in words and demonstration, the favorite brushes white powder across Mei Lin’s small face, painting red on her lips. Mei Lin puts on an old dress one of the other prostitutes gives her to borrow, a garment which is too large but is much more beautiful than anything she has ever worn. 

“Not him,” the favorite says when a burly man asks for Mei Lin’s prices, “He is too rough.”

Another man the favorite takes. “He requires more experience than you have.”

Finally, she allow Mei Lin to take a man to an empty room but not before giving her advice. Her first client is older and slightly feeble. He does not recognize how inexperienced she is and during, he does not mind when she stops and slows when it becomes painful.

Mei Lin takes the coins the next day and buys fried taro from a stall in the market. The rest, she ties into a belt which she holds close to her body. 

“How did you know I liked sweets?” the favorite asks as Mei Lin holds some of the sweet, fried treat to the woman’s lips.

.  
.  
.

Jia Sidao discovers her secret when word of her skill spreads through the streets. He watches her with silent eyes. He is still a child and he is more concerned with the food she brings him. A month after she begins her profession, she has bought the house of their parents. She take pride in holding the keys. She pays no mind to the looks their former landlord gives her.

Jia Sidao watches her put her makeup on every night and he corrects her mistakes. Often, he waits for her to return in the dawn hours.

It take years for the light in his eyes to change, so long that she does not notice until it is permanently altered.

.  
.  
.

"Does it hurt?" Mei Lin asks.

“No,” Jing Fei replies, too quickly. She had bunched the cloth up before covering her eye, to cover the extent of the bruised skin. Jing Fei had sat up all night, holding the throbbing flesh and by dawn the skin had turned purple. Even the thickest of powder cannot hide it.

Mei Lin shifts on the bed, corning Jing Fei. She tugs at the cloth covering her friend’s injury, “Let me see, Jing Fei.”

Jin Fei shoves at the larger girl but cannot force her away, “It’s nothing!”

“Are you such a child that you think if you hide it, I cannot see?” Mei Lin tackles her friend, uses her knees to tuck the younger girl’s arms into the mattress before yanking the cloth away. 

Her eyelids and the surrounding flesh are swollen and hot to the touch. The white of Jing Fei’s eyes is blood red, which can only be seen if the child makes great effort to open her eye. A ring of fleshly healed skin shows the imprint of familiar rings. 

Jing Fei fidgets. Mei Lin quickly jumps off the younger girl, who has begun to tremble underneath her.

“It is none of your concern,” Jing Fei snaps, her eyes growing wet. 

“Who did this to you?” Mei Lin asks. 

Jing Fei pushes again and this time Mei Lin allows herself to be moved away. Jing Fei seizes the cloth, covering her eye again. The spot of red blood forming on Jing Fei’s dress does not escape Mei Lin’s awareness.

“Go away Mei Lin,” Jing Fei says, looking very surprised when Mei Lin obeys.

She notices the glint of the man’s rings from across the room, later that night in the brothel. Mei Lin’s face is a mask as she descends on the man. His eyes look like those of a cat about to pounce on a mouse as he leads her into a room. He presses her down onto the mattress, his hand roaming across her body. He does not notice the blade hidden in her dress which she pulls from her clothes when he raises his fist to strike her for his own pleasure.

Three days later, Mei Lin brings sweets to Jing Fei. 

“The other whores say the man with the rings killed himself after a night with you because he had nothing else to live for,” Jing Fei says, chewing on one of the treats Mei Lin brought her. She holds up the blanket under which she lays so that Mei Lin can join her in the bed.

“Songs. To bring in more men with coin,” Mei Lin says, tucking Jing Fei’s hair behind her ear. 

.  
.  
.

 

Jia Sidao’s hands cut through the air, his form certain in its movements. He had agonized over this very set in his practices, repeating each individual motion a hundred times until it was perfect. 

Her brother’s mentor does not notice his pupil. The Captain of the Guard watches Mei Lin out of the corner of his eye, as he had for several weeks now. Normally Mei Lin would spare with Jia Sidao but not today. 

She does not want to embarrass him by demonstrating superior skill. She watches his lessons and often practices along with him. She does not believe in stroking his ego. She would, as a rule, challenge him truly and if he fell, it was only a part of his lesson. 

Today, however, she had labored over her powders and face paints and worn her best silks. 

“My brother is your best pupil,” Mei Lin says simply when the Captain can no longer maintain his distance from her. She knows his intent when he looks at her, nostrils wide and eyes full. It is a common expression in her line of work. Men are not often subtle in their lust. 

Jia Sidao hears her. She knows because she sees the slightest flaw in his form for the briefest second. Then, his face goes slack and he corrects himself. 

He does not understand. Her foolish brother still believes perfection will elevate him. He does not understand the strength of her softer skills. 

“He is,” the Captain says. He leans closer so that he can whisper into the skin of her neck, “I wish for your company in my quarters again.”

“Of course,” Mei Lin says, “I will come to you tonight. First, however, you must finished my brother’s lesson. He is weak on his eighth form.”

The Captain nods and goes to the task.

Later, Jia Sidao will glare when leave their small hut to spend the night in the Captain’s bed. Yet, she is not inexperienced. Mei Lin will wrap herself around the Captain and suggest he takes Jia Sidao when he goes to see the Minister of War. Their purse will fill as a result. 

For now, she will correct Jia Sidao, whether this pleases him or not. He must be without flaw. On this, Jia Sidao is correct. The Minister of War will not look twice at a peasant if Jia Sidao is anything less than ferocious. 

.  
.  
.

“Jia Sidao gave me his permission,” the lord informs her.

She opens her mouth and lashes his ears with her tongue. She is not a thing of value to be traded when it suits her brother. By the time she is finished, the lord cannot even bring himself to look her in the eyes.

It does not occur to her until much later that she and her brother are not different. She offered her brother in service to ministers in the Emporer’s court when it was sure to serve them. He offered her bed to gain similar reward.

“Send Lord Shang to my room after you have tea with him this afternoon,” Mei Lin tells Jia Sidao. He watches her from his desk, his hand busy with the porcelain gift he had been given. “He is close to the emperor. If he speaks highly of me, I could become an imperial consort and I could speak of your skill as well.”

“How lucky I am to have a whore for a sister,” Jia Sidao says.

They watch one another with mirrored expressions. She did this. She created him and she cannot remove the shame and disgust she feels when she sees him now, nor can she turn away. He is her brother. Only when they are together, do they hold coin.

.  
.  
.

Mei Lin rings the golden bell, one of the Empress’ many gifts. They sit in fine lacquered chairs, given as gift from a Lord to the Emperor. Her quarters have tripled in size. The Emperor is very pleased with his new child, a beautiful girl with bright eyes and an easy smile. Her child wears fine silks and jewelry with flawless gems and heavy gold. Chests are filled with gifts from the Emperor, things given out of pride for their new daughter to have as she grows. Ling shall never desire a thing. She will never know hunger or pain.

In Jing Fei’s arms, Ling smiles at the ring of the bell. Such is a thing no coin can buy.

.  
.  
.

“I give you the only favor I still have: a choice,” Ahmad tells her. 

They are defeated. She knows this. The Khan’s blade hangs over head. 

She takes the bag of gold he passes her. There is not judgement in his eyes. He is one of the rare people she has met who understands.

.  
.  
.

She dies, many years later, held tightly in Ling’s arms. Her daughter’s children hum song to calm her as her breathing slows. 

“My treasure,” Mei Lin says.


End file.
